This chapter describes the Gangani children's adventures after landing on the Gibral Rock between the Pillars of herculese.

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The Angry Mermaid 8.
Or.
Y Morforwyn Dicllon 8

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)

Dawn arrived damp and cool. A fog had settled over the Straights of Hercules thus Drustan awoke to find the land invisible to him and he invisible to the land. He took a drink from the last fresh water pot and debated washing himself in the sour dregs that was all that remained of their water. Blueface’s wound still bled and he was irritated with himself that it seemed to refuse to heal so he threw caution to the wind and sluiced the blood away to leave only a few cupfuls of water in the pot. They had an agreement so he should be able to renew their water that morning so he expected to get more soon. He studied his blood-stained breech and cursed. Blood was the devil’s own stuff to wash out of linen. Dare he wash it out? He asked himself.

‘Should he or shouldn’t he use up the last of their water?’ He wondered. He stared thoughtfully at the clay pot with its thin ring of green slime and decided to leave it. Until he saw and tasted the promised fresh water he would take all precautions. Reluctantly he re-secured the lid of the pot and made it safe as he contemplated one more dip in the salty sea. Partly to refresh himself and mainly to try and wash his breech-cloth out.

Long trained to be cautious, he did not plunge into the water with a loud revealing splash but rather he climbed silently down the knotted rope and slid secretively beneath the crystal clear sea that lay like a mirror under the still, foggy air. Not a ripple or sound disturbed his ablutions for it was the very earliest of hours. Whilst in the water, he took the rare opportunity to check out the Mermaid’s hull and reassured himself that all was correct. It was.

His beloved little ship had not yet failed him once. Gratefully he climbed aboard again and dried himself in the spare linen sail. Then he sipped sparingly on some more water and chewed on some cold, dried fish. He wondered how his sisters fared so he could only wait now until the fog lifted.

He set about re-tidying the deck again and checking that the precious gold, silver and copper was still secure under the filth and ballast in the bilges. Finally there was nothing else he could do to occupy his fretful mind and he dozed on the mattress of the spare leather storm sail. In the silence of a windless fog, sound travels immensely far over water and he strained his ears for any sounds of life from the shore. There was none but he hadn’t expected any. He had no idea of local customs or habits but he did not expect any boats to come out to the anchored Mermaid until the fog had lifted. In the first place they would have trouble locating him.

He felt the sun rising slowly until eventually he could see its weak watery orb above the low fog bank. At the same time the peak of the great rock appeared above the fog, this was an indicator that the sun was beginning its job of burning off the fog. Drustan decided to climb the mast for it was often possible to see over a low fog bank. As he did so he concluded that the fog bank was still too thick and high so he could see little more. For a few minutes he sat perched on the tiny cross-tree where the new block served to hoist the sail. It was not the most comfortable of places but he rested there to recover his strength before climbing down to the deck. The diet of dried fish, stale bread and fresh water for the passage from Brithony had left him thin but wiry. After resting and regaining his strength, he clambered lithely down again and sat recovering his breath for a few moments before a sound caught his ear.

There was the slow steady beat of a ship’s sweeps accompanied by some low murmuring voices. He strained all his senses to locate the source but they confused him. He checked the precious lodestone, compared his orientation with the peak of the great rock and determined that the sounds were coming from seaward.

‘Who could it be?’ He wondered. ‘Surely they did not change the guard boat in the fog.’

Nervously he cast about for something to do, something to secure his situation, so he started shortening his anchor. If he had to run he did not want to have to cut his anchor and leave the useful anchor stone behind. It would mean having to run the boat ashore to collect another one and to do that alone was difficult; especially as the middle sea was reputed to have no tides to float off again at high water. Besides there was the question of anchor rope. To cut any would necessitate a considerable loss. Linen rope was durable and valuable. He did not want to lose any.

Slowly he hauled the anchor rope in until the stone was almost bouncing on the bottom. The Mermaid started to yaw for want of a proper anchor lead and that told Drustan there were still currents to be considered. The rowing sounds got louder and Drustan peered uncertainly into the cursed fog.

‘Why would anybody be approaching from the sea, and why did they not hail the shore?’ He continued to wonder.

Then Isobel’s words came to him and a dull feeling sagged in his belly. (A state of virtual war existed in the great straights!)
The low murmuring grew as the rowing sounds approached so Drustan decided to hail the approaching vessel. He dug out the great Viking long-horn from under the sails and unplugged the mouthpiece of long horn to check that the air flow was clear. Then, taking a deep breath, he released a long sonorous note that rumbled across the fog banks.

‘Nobody can have missed that!’ He concluded as he waited for a response.

The rowing ceased immediately and the murmuring stopped but no shout came from the fog. Drustan decided to blow another blast. To have called blindly into the fog would have alerted the new visitors that the owner of the unbroken, treble voice was but a boy or a girl.

‘That would be giving away too much information.’ He concluded. Caution had become Drustan’s middle name.

Instead he took a deeper breath and blew again into the Viking horn. An even longer, deeper note rolled out across the fog but still no response from the sea. To Drustan’s suspicious mind that could mean but one thing. ‘Whoever was approaching in the fog did not want to declare their intentions and that could mean only one thing.’

Immediately Drustan pointed the great long-horn towards the town and gave a series of shorter but more powerful, explosive blasts. He had no idea what sort of alarm system they had ashore ‘but surely a signal as distinct as that must alert them to something!’

His convictions proved correct for almost immediately a loud, deep-toned bell pealed out across the bay to be answered from the other side. Drustan didn’t even know which side he should join with but the town held his sisters so that had to be made safe. Suddenly a series of shouts and curses erupted through the fog and Drustan decided it was time to make himself and the Mermaid scarce. One boy having to sail a ship and fight it against an unquantified foe was a huge no-no.

‘Time to leave!’ He decided as he hoisted the sail then hauled in the last remnants of the anchor rope.

Within moments the faithful racehorse sprang to the growing anabatic, sea-breeze and the Mermaid was soon dancing over the rippled sea on a broad reach that took her across the bay and across the path of the approaching visitors. It was only as he emerged from the edge of the fog bank that he just spotted the ghostly outline of some strange ships with long triangular sails slipping silently and almost invisibly along the edge of the fog bank towards the town and harbour.
‘Clever! Very clever!’ Thought Drustan. ‘They stick to the seaward edge of the fog-bank so that they can see each
other and navigate their way but they are invisible to the shore! Well, we’ll see about that!’

Drustan hooked the tiller to keep the Mermaid up to the freshening wind then he took the great horn and puffed a series of short rapid blasts. The sound could do little else but convey ‘danger’ and ‘urgency’. He was pleased to garnish a response from the shore. The loud sonorous peel of the church bells was joined by a rapid, higher pitched ringing of many smaller bells.
‘Well, if they were asleep before, they’re awake now!’ He grinned.

‘So what to do next?’ He wondered.

The only advantages he and the Mermaid had were speed, agility and the ability to know what course he kept in zero visibility; thanks to the precious loadstone. He realised that the owners of the foreign sails had spotted his strange craft for suddenly two of the vessels peeled off from the fleet and steered a course directly for him. They meant business for the sweeps were beating a frantic rhythm. Drustan had two options, first to outrun them with the mermaid’s speed and the second was to hide in the fog. He chose the latter.

‘Why reveal my beloved Mermaid’s secrets to them now,’ he decided, ‘better to lose them in the fog!’ He altered course and quickly re-entered the fog bank further out to sea.

He steered a course due south until he emerged in the rougher waters of the great straights and finally clear of the inshore fog-bank. Here the prevailing westerly wind had resumed with the sun’s heat to clear the fog. Drustan could see clear across to the other side of the straights and friendly white horses leapt from the wavelets to show the force of the westerly breeze. Ideal conditions for the Mermaid to show her paces.

Drustan recklessly turned about to observe his pursuer’s emergence from the fog and he didn’t have long to wait. Soon he was playing the Oyster-bird’s trick by feigning injury and tardiness as he invited the Corsairs to chase him. Confident in their ability to ensnare the strange ship they set about their usual pincer movement to encircle their prey and finally close the ring. It would have worked easily, as it always had in the past, had the Mermaid been a typically slow, ponderous trading craft. This time it was different.

The lack of sweeps, or oars as they are more commonly known to modern men, led the Corsairs to believe they were pursuing a common trading ship. The pursuers split up and pulled hard on their sweeps as they set about encircling the tiny craft who had betrayed their plan of invasion. Drustan smiled as he held the Mermaid on a southerly course to the Southern Pillar of Hercules. On such a broad reach with a westerly wind it was easy to adjust his speed to fool the pursuers that they were slowly gaining on the betrayer. All he had to do was keep plying south until the oarsmen were exhausted. Whether slaves or free-men, they could not keep up the frenetic pace all the way to the southern shore for that’s where The Angry Mermaid seemed destined. Eventually, the Corsair galleys had to give up. They had been rowing all morning and it was close to noon. Broken slaves with blood pouring from their whipped backs lay slumped on their oars as the Corsair pirates cursed and screamed their fury.

Drustan smiled inwardly and wondered what next to do. He was tempted to loose some fire-arrows into the pirate ships for the range of his sister’s long bow was greater than the Corsairs simple short bow used for close infighting between ships. Besides, he had no convenient fire and it would take time to start it. Also he knew that the slaves were probably chained to their oars and if the galleys sunk, they would also drown. Though such a death might be preferable to the living hell they lived now.

Having now got the Corsair galleys where he wanted them, namely effectively de-engined with an exhausted crew of ‘sweeps-men’, and stranded in the middle of the great straights were the east-going current was strongest, he could take his time. The Corsair pirates only slowly realised that they had become the prey.

Like a hunter pursuing a tiger, once he had lost his gun he would become the hunted. Drustan studied the slaves, some deep black; some brown, some burned red from the sun and with red Celtic hair whilst others were once fair-haired yet now bleached almost white from the sun.

These Drustan concluded, must be enslaved Celts or Norsemen or Saxons or Danes. The boy felt mixed feelings. Many of those enslaved men might well have once been pirates themselves. Some might even have killed his kinsmen on the Celtic shores. But then even he and indeed, his own sisters had golden hair!

‘What to do?’ He wondered.

His eyes fell upon Aiofe’s long slender bow. All the children knew that Aiofe treasured it for it was the strongest and most accurate amongst the children’s weapons.

‘Perhaps if he stood off out of range of their bows and loosed some arrows into the corsair ships,’

He picked it up and fingered it respectfully. ‘Had he any right to touch his older sister’s treasured possession.’ He concluded he had little choice.

Once again he tied off the tiller to set the Mermaid on the steadiest course while the corsairs now set their own sails to pursue. With the Mermaid now running with the wind on her distaff quarter before the Westerly wind, she steadied on a course that would return her to the northern shores. Drustan was now able to aim and shoot aft with effect. Taking endless care for he had endless time he finally got the corsair commander in his sights and fired. The accuracy of Aiofe’s bow left him breathless with euphoria as he watched the arrow speed unerringly towards its target and plunge through the brute’s chest armour directly into where his heart should be; ‘if he had one!’ Drustan mused. The man fell immediately but Drustan had already nocked another arrow to his sister’s bow. Another high ranking man with brightly decorated armour fell to the deck before the corsairs realised their prey had teeth and claws and they had now become the hunted.

The pursuing ship veered off nervously but there was now no escape. The Angry Mermaid easily matched them for agility and speed so Drustan was soon upon them again. He loosed another arrow but it missed as the sweeps were put to work again and a bare-chested man thrashed his whip about with brutal effect.

‘You next you bastard!’ Drustan murmured to himself as he waited for the Mermaid to steady.

The arrow hit the slave-master with such force that it drove the man down amongst the very rowers he had been whipping but Drustan was too preoccupied to notice as he searched the decks for his next target. A man in a bright green tunic standing at the bow, seemed to be somebody of rank so he was Drustan’s next choice. The arrow hit the man in the arm, he was disabled but he remained standing and cursing. Drustan fired again quickly but missed the man altogether. However, his arrow found and killed another standing next to the high ranker. Drustan cursed but reconciled himself to his score. ‘Four dead and one wounded out of six arrows from a moving ship’s deck was a bloody good score.’ He now found a new respect for his sister’s treasured bow.

He decided to call it a day. He only had a few arrows left and the sun was now at its hottest and he had had nothing to eat or drink since that early morning. He was hungry, tired and he had no idea where his next decent meal was coming from. Dried fish did only so much for a growing boy’s hunger.

Reluctantly he broke off from the battle but tiredness and the irritability with Blueface’s wound caused a lapse of concentration. As he turned to break away, he passed just too close to the second corsair ship and suddenly found himself under fire from their short ranged fighting bows. A single arrow slashed down his arm peeling open the flesh as it ricocheted off the wrist bone and flashed away to embed itself in the rudder-post behind him. Drustan let out a scream of pain and hauled desperately on the tiller with his remaining good arm. The Mermaid span faithfully on her fulcrum and sped away to the north as the boom slammed across and caught the wind on the other tack. It was a desperate manoeuvre and could easily have smashed the Mermaid’s rigging but the faithful craft held up and took her wounded partner swiftly out of danger. The corsairs were left howling with frustration as the mermaid put distance between them and all eyes turned disbelievingly to watch her disappearing speedily to windward at an impossible angle to the westerly wind.

Two of the oar slaves looked on with greater knowledge of seamanship for they had once been ship captains themselves. They had never seen any craft sail so close to the wind and they had once captained ships of war during their younger days in the tempestuous northern seas! Having ceased to row, the gasping men had time to whisper privately.

“Well Carl, think what we could have done with a ship like that! What manner of craft is she?”

“Never mind what we could have done with her Eric, look what we can do with this! Look what I have here.” He whispered to his oar companion.

“What’s that?”

“It’s only the bloody key to our chains! When the slave master was killed it fell from his belt and nobody’s noticed in all the mayhem. It opens all the slave shackles.”

Even as he spoke, Eric freed his own wrists and swiftly passed the key down the line of slaves with a message to wait for the signal.

Within minutes all the slaves were free as the Corsairs were preoccupied with their dead leaders. On Eric’s signal, they rose as one and overwhelmed their outnumbered, leaderless captors.

Drustan knew none of this. The arrow strike had left him weak and dizzy from loss of blood. Fortunately it had struck no vital blood vessels but he had lost a lot of blood and there was little he could do. There were no bandages for even Aiofe’s petty-coat had gone ashore with his sister, as she had dressed for the feast that previous night. Desperately he set the sails to meet the wind and the Mermaid slowly picked her way three points to the wind as she made her painful way back to the northern pillar of Hercules. The battle and chase had taken them several leagues into the middle sea. The distance, easily made whilst fighting before the wind, now had to be recovered slowly, tack by painful tack. With each desperate effort to reset the sails and make a tack through the wind, Drustan was becoming weaker and weaker with loss of blood. He feared he would not make it back past the north pillar of Hercules, the great rock that gave shelter to the town where his sisters might even now be captured into bondage. Tears of frustration and fatigue escaped his tired eyes as fear drove him to push his body beyond its capability. Eventually, as the sun set, he collapsed at the foot of the rudder stock and could only hold feebly onto the tiller to steer by the stars as he hoped and prayed that he might make a landfall on the north shore somewhere. It was not to be though, Drustan had reached the end of his tether and he collapsed unconscious through loss of blood.

Fortunately for Drustan help was closer than he knew. The second Corsair captain had broken off the fight because he thought the Angry Mermaid was repeating the earlier tactics of playing the wounded bird. As the Angry Mermaid sailed blindly north and west towards the great rock, the second corsair raider was sailing east for his home port with his tail between his legs.

The first corsair ship had been captured and taken over by its own crew of oarsmen. Furious from long months of brutal bondage, the oarsmen had risen as one and exploded off the benches. All the Corsairs were swiftly killed, and the vessel was now under the command of Eric and Carl. Both men had seen the arrow strike Drustan’s arm and heard him emit his boyish scream of pain as blood immediately flowed from the long slash in his arm. They debated whether to check if the boy was alright for the Angry Mermaid was now behaving erratically.

“I tell you Carl; he’s just but a lad. He was hit badly and he’ll need treating. I saw the wound open up as if he had been filleted like a fish. We owe him our freedom if nothing else.”

“But he’s a bloody dangerous lad Eric. And that bow he had, you take a risk if you approach him un-invited. He’ll be like a wounded animal I tell you; frightened and dangerous.”

“That’s if he’s still conscious; the course that bloody boat is making tells me there’s nobody at the helm. It’s only the set of that strange rig that keeps her steady to that course. Look at it yawing and pitching with every wave. There’s nobody on the tiller, look!”

As the captured Corsair ship finally overtook the erratic Mermaid, Eric was able to confirm his suspicions as he peered from the high prow straight down onto the deck of the smaller craft. He spotted the crumpled, unresponsive form prostate on the deck by the rudder stock where Drustan had finally collapsed. So he called to his companion master Carl.
“The boy’s down, there’s blood all over the deck where he lies. Bring me alongside and we’ll see if he’s to be mended.”

Carl bent to the steering oar as other experienced seamen amongst the freed oarsmen, swiftly adjusted the sails to match the Mermaid's reduced erratic speed. Within minutes the corsair craft was alongside and Eric leapt easily down onto the Mermaid’s deck. One look told him the boy was pretty far gone. He called back to the Corsair ship.

“Are there any of you with medical skills?”

“Aye, me!” An olive skinned Greek replied.

“Then come here quickly, the boy’s badly done.”

The physician moved quickly for he too had much to thank the unknown child for; and he knew it. He had found the Corsair medical kit after the fight and some of the slaves had been wounded. Grabbing what had now become his de-facto badge of rank of ‘ship’s surgeon’, he joined Eric at the tiller of the Mermaid.

“You treat him, I’ll steer this bloody craft.” Eric suggested.

He called across to Carl and explained.

“The boy was obviously heading for the Gibral Rock! We might as well make for there!”

“Well make haste, d’you need any more crew.”

“Aye one’ll do it, best a Celt, this boy looks like a Celt and his tunic has Celtic whorls. If he wakes up, it’ll be best if we can talk to him.”

Carl called for one volunteer and several Celts stepped forward. All were seamen and all were eager to discover the secret of the Mermaid’s speed and agility for she had led them a cruel and exhausting dance. Their previous captors had whipped them unmercifully in an effort to overtake the little craft that was even now dancing to the waves and itching to be away. A young man named Torvel was despatched by Carl to assist Eric while the physician busied himself with the wounded child. Eric and Torvel both being experienced seamen soon had the Mermaid under control and they even surprised themselves as the craft leapt eagerly forward to soon overtake the Corsair vessel. Carl’s eyes widened with disbelief at the sudden acceleration for now that two men could handle both tiller and sails simultaneously, the mermaid could really show her paces. As they left the Corsair vessel floundering in their wake. Eric turned to Torvel.

“By the Gods she’s fast! How so?” He wondered loudly in his broken Latin.

“She’s a strange craft alright,” Torvel agreed, “those triangular sails and no steering oar but that pole thing attached to a fixed blade that swings. That must explain it.”

“No there’s something else. Something about the hull, look how it’s widest at the mast and the long easy taper to the blade. Yet her arse is still wide, like a fat hen’s feathers. She’s a strange-un alright!”

“Well, strange or not,” Torvel finished, “she’ll have us at the Gibral Rock in no time! Just look at that wake! Did you ever see?”

Both men stared transfixed at the wake until a low whimper attracted their attentions. The Physician had stemmed the blood loss and Drustan was slowly recovering. The whimpering had been Drustan’s response to the Physician’s needle work as he cleaned the wound with herbs and lotions then stitched the two long strips of skin together. Eric and Torvel watched and grinned.
“The kid’ll have a fine scar for the ladies to admire when he’s older.” Chuckled Eric.

“He’s already got a good scar. Look at his arse.” The physician interjected as he peeled back the boy’s britches and both men studied the huge angry slash.

“Well I’ll be buggered!” Torvel laughed uproariously. “This kid’s already seen some action!”

“Aye and not yet in his fifteenth summer I’ll wager.” The Greek added. “Only a sword could have done that and a bloody sharp one. It was no game or sword practice being played by whoever cut him like that. He really meant to kill the boy.”

“Well he’ll not likely see his sixteenth summer if he carries on as he has. First a sword cut and now an arrow strike. The next one’ll be a bloody spear, and a fatal stabbing I’ll wager, if he carries on with his recklessness.”

“Well the sooner he gets back to the Gibral rock, the better it will be.” The Greek physician added. “ Mind you this is an interesting medical bag. There are several herbs and potions in here that I don’t recognise.”

“Yeah, well the kid looks much more comfortable now. He’s got a bit of colour back, what did you do?”

“I recognised several of the effluvians and he sipped a goodly dose just now. You were too busy getting to know this strange craft. He’ll live now. A comfortable bed with a maid to care for him and he’ll be soon to rights.”

“Will his arm be usable?” Torvel asked.

“Yes. He managed to make a fist for me before relapsing. I’m letting him sleep now but I still fear for the boy’s condition. He needs warmth and fresh food. There’s only some dried fish and a few crumbs of stale bread.”

“Thus concerned about the boy’s condition, the three ex slaves set to with avengance to speed the Mermaid back to Gibral rock. They arrived at the dead of night and the town was tense with anticipation. The Corsair’s sneak attack in the fog had been beaten off but the mood was still nervous. Fortunately the Greek physician spoke excellent Latin and several lookouts recognised the strange outline of the Mermaid as she swept rapidly between the breakwaters. News of the boy’s injuries was swiftly exchanged and messages rushed to the town’s physician and Drustan’s sisters. Everybody had heard Drustan blowing the Viking horn that morning and Aiofe had warned the town elders that it meant danger. Drustan’s warning had been greatly appreciated and the boy was already a hero. Now he had returned with even greater tales of glory to his name but the Physicians, plus his sisters, Aiofe and Mabina were far more concerned about his wounds. The Greek consulted with the town’s physician and neither were yet sure of the outcome. All that could be done, had been done, they could only wait and hope. Aiofe and Mabina spent many tearful worried hours watching and waiting and hoping. Arina had been tasked to guard the mermaid.

Drustan slept until the following noon and finally recovered to find his sisters sitting either side of a comfortable bed. Their eyes were red-rimmed with crying but as he softly croaked for water they gasped a huge sigh of joy that was swiftly followed by more tears of relief.

Naturally, his first feeling was pangs of hunger and he called for food. Aiofe smiled at Mabina as they exchanged their first words since Drustan’s return.

“He’s getting better, he’s thinking of food.” Aiofe said.

“I’ll never rib him about it again!” Replied Mabina

“And so would you think of food my young ladies if you hadn’t eaten or drank for two days” The physician scolded them. “Now if you want to do something useful; give him some of this broth.”

Both girls eagerly reached for the broth, keen to be the first to feed their brother. Aiofe won for the Physician recognised her senior age but Mabina was not resentful for she was given the water and Drustan struggled feebly to sit up. His wounded arm failed him and he slipped on his wounded side causing him to howl loudly with confusion and pain. Both physicians reached forward to assist him and check the wounded limb. The wound proved to be still clean and uninfected. The herbs and potions had done their work.

Drustan’s cry was heard throughout the infirmary and the town’s elders demanded to know. They had been waiting nervously all night.

The Greek Physician advised everybody as he stepped from the room.

“It was nothing; he just slipped and hurt the wounded limb as he struggled unexpectedly to sit up. It’s started bleeding a bit but will soon stop. He’s now taking water and broth! The boy looks as though he’ll live.”

“Can we see him?” The chief asked.

“One of you can come in but don’t excite him. He’s nervous and very confused. He was hallucinating during the night but we took no notice. He’s cognisant now but very, very weak. His sisters are feeding him. He recognised them and that has given him reassurance.”

Isobel stepped forward as the appointed delegate for she had met the boy earlier and was therefore a familiar face. She followed the Greek back into the single bedroom as Drustan fretted about the Angry Mermaid.

“Don’t worry little brother. Our vessel is safe. Even now Arina sits with her safe in the harbour.” Aiofe soothed him as Mabina wiped his brow again.

Drustan sagged with relief then tensed again as he met Isobel’s gaze and wondered where he was. He thought he was being held captive. He gave another nervous whimper but Aiofe recognised her younger brother’s continuing confusion as he went in and out of hallucinations. She spoke soothingly as she stroked his good arm.

“It’s alright Drustan. You’re safe and amongst friends. The Corsairs have gone!”

She turned to the Physician.

“Have we anything for his confusion or should we let him sleep again?”

“After he’s finished his food and water,” The Town physician replied as she checked to see how much her patient had eaten. “There are only a few mouthfuls to go.”

“Can we not speak to him yet,” Isobel asked.

“If he’s still confused, and he appears still to be, his answers will be of no value. Best let him sleep again.”

She held up a small phial of medicine to indicate her intent as she poured some into Drustan’s water.

“The longer he lies still the faster that nasty wound will start to heal. He started bleeding again when he slipped just now.”

Mabina was washing the wound but Drustan was oblivious to anything. He had slipped back into sleep again of his own accord. Exhaustion had won. The physician reassured the girls.

“You can go now. He’s eaten food and this is a natural sleep. He’s on the mend.”

The girls sagged with relief and tears overtook them as Isobel escorted them past the waiting councillors back to the chieftain’s household. The doctors emerged and gave a progress report to the waiting throng. Drustan slept the day around and another night.

During his sleep the freed slaves had consulted with the town’s elders and their useful information had been passed inland to the capital city. Already the king was sending emissaries to interview the slaves who were to be granted citizenship.

More importantly, little Arina had been kept busy preventing curious individuals from learning any of the Mermaid’s secrets. For this she had been forced to invoke Isobel’s agreement about trading secrets but several of the freed slaves from the Corsair Galley had shown undue interest in the little craft; most notably, Carl, Eric and Torvel, who were all experienced seafarers.
Their main curiosity lay in the rig of the sails and all three men, just like the townsmen traders had failed to spot the real secret.

Mermaid’s hull was exceptionally light for Welsh Oak was a very hard, tough, stiff wood. Although it was difficult to work, Drustan’s forefathers had been using the wood for generations and the iron secrets of their cousins on the Isle of Mon had enabled them to work the wood to their will. The deep light frames gave her the stiffness and rigidity that enable her to pound and pant against all but the most destructive of seas. This lightness also enabled the Mermaid to carry an exceptionally heavy load of ballast without unduly adding to her draught. Naturally the intense weight of the gold bars still lying undetected under the stone ballast and filth gathered in the garboard strake bilges added enormously to that low, centre of gravity. It made for a very stiff vessel but an incredibly stable and responsive one. Arina had to be constantly alert to surreptitious efforts to garnish the craft’s secrets. Furthermore, neither Arina nor Aiofe had yet discovered the existence of the gold for Drustan and Mabina had been very tight lipped. The twins knew that the less people who knew, then the less mouths to betray their precious secret. Arina was totally ignorant that beneath the fish carcasses and accumulated filth under the small spread of floorboards around the foot of the mast, there lay a small fortune in gold beneath the ballast jammed between the floors.

She allowed visitors to step aboard and even study the craft she had come to worship as her home and saviour but none were allowed to poke or prod or measure any part of the Mermaid.

Eventually Drustan started to recover from his wound and the physicians let him up. His very first act was to revisit his beloved ship and check with the young Arina.

“Has anybody been poking around her secrets?” He asked.

“No,” Arina answered honestly, “they step aboard and they can look but I have allowed nobody to pry or measure.”

Drustan knew that the young girl worshipped the boat. As a fisherman’s daughter who had often fished with her brothers in the Celtic waters, Arina knew a special craft when she sailed one.

“Good girl, I’ll return to watching her now. You should join my sisters; and get a bath; you stink of fish and salt.”

“That’s not my fault!” Arina snapped. “I’ve been watching The Angry mermaid for three days without relief and there have been lots of people curious about her! I know I stink! You don’t have to tell me!”

Arina was grateful for the release but a little hurt at Drustan’s insensitivity. Girls did not like to be told that they smelled. She immediately tried to avail herself of Aiofe and Mabina’s privileges. Aiofe and Mabina were absent all that day so at first the palace staff were reluctant to allow a mere fisherman’s daughter to savour the luxuries of the chieftain’s family’s own bathing facilities but Arina soon circumvented that issue. She promptly returned to Drustan still stinking of fish and Drustan immediately demanded equal treatment for the little girl he was beginning to become attracted to. As a welcome hero who had done so much to save the town, Drustan’s merest request to the chieftain was tantamount to an immediate command when translated to the lower orders. Arina got her bath and a beautiful new gown to boot for Isobel took the waif under her wing when she recognised yet another fellow traveller, orphaned by the violence of the times.

That night, Arina got to sleep in the same chamber as Aiofe and Mabina, it was the first time she had done so and only because of Drustan’s intervention. Drustan was a bit surprised and angry with his sisters for not insisting that Arina be treated as an equal despite her lowly origins as a fisherman’s daughter. On the journeys they had shared, the younger girl had worked every bit as hard as the others and proved herself their equal.

That same night Drustan remained on the Mermaid for he still trusted no-one. During the night he was not surprised to find Eric and Carl visiting the ship and he waited warily with dagger hidden in his tunic.

“What d’you want?” Drustan asked suspiciously. “I thought you’d be at the feast, celebrating your freedom.”

“Still as distrusting as the girl are you?” Carl replied in faltering Latin.

“I don’t know you. All I know is that you’re Saxons or Angles. You’ve never told me how you came to be slaves on a Corsair pirate ship.”

“We’ve never had the chance. You were almost unconscious and delirious when Eric and Torvel rescued you.”

“No. I think it was me that rescued you.”

Carl fell silent for the boy’s words were true. If his arrows had not beheaded the pirate ship by killing the commander, slave master and two other high ranking Corsairs, they would never have had the opportunity to free themselves. All the slaves owed the boy their freedom but his ship was such a tantalising prize. Carl and Eric had come to the middle sea by way of trade and their merchant ships had been attacked by the Corsairs. Their slow seaworthy trading ships had been well armed but stout and ponderous. Although they had put up a stiff fight, they had been easily overwhelmed by the attacking pirate fleet of Corsairs. Had their ships been as fast as this Celtic boy’s strange craft they might well have made a fist of it and escaped.

“We have no intentions of stealing your ship my boy.” Eric added. “We would just love to learn its secrets; what gives her such speed.”

“Oh you’ll not steal her. The guards on the quay are watching you. I have only to call.”

“Don’t you trust anybody boy?” An exasperated Carl asked.

Drustan wagged his head slowly and meaningfully. With accelerated maturity came cynicism and suspicion. Drustan’s early tribulations had only speeded that development. He glared at the Saxons.

“At home you are my people’s sworn enemies, you and those damned, murdering Norsemen! Why should I trust you?”

“The Norsemen are everybody’s enemies. But here in the middle sea we all face the same enemy; the Corsairs.”

“I’ll reserve judgement on that.” Was Drustan’s final word as he invited the men to leave whilst glancing meaningfully towards the guards on the quay who had been watching the interplay with considerable interest.

Carl and Eric left more disappointed than angry, it was obvious to them that the scars the boy sported gave good, unspoken reason for his total lack of trust. Wherever the boy had been; it must have been a hard school. Further proof of the boy having ‘walked the walk’ was the fact he never spoke of his scars. Those that had met and faced death rarely did. The memories were usually too painful.

Eric and Carl were a bit angry that the boy still distrusted even those who had treated him and brought him to safety; the two men were forced to respect the boy’s untrusting nature. These were hard and dangerous times now that the ‘Pax Romana’ no longer held. ‘Learn quickly or die quickly’ seemed to be the general rule of life for those who ventured abroad. After the Saxons had left, Drustan thanked the guards for their vigilance and fell into a well deserved sleep. The sun was mid-morning high when he opened one eye as the girls chattering alerted him to their approach. Isobel stepped aboard the boat and caused it to rock.

“Hello sleepyhead.” Mabina smiled.

“I wasn’t asleep,” he argued as he exposed the knife in his grip under the cloak.

“Hello smelly,” Arina added, determined to get her own back for the previous slight.

Drustan ignored the gentle ‘put down’ as he turned to Aiofe and Isobel.

“So what news?”

“We captured anther two Corsair ships.” Isobel replied. “One as it struck a rock in the fog and the guard ship captured another as they retreated. It was a stiff fight though. The town wishes to thank you.”

Drustan yawned and Aiofe frowned as she motioned to him to cover his mouth.

‘Ever the older sister!’ Drustan sighed wearily as he wondered exactly what Isobel meant by ‘thanking him’. Drustan had little time for ceremony, ‘one day somebody could be praising you and heaping riches on your shoulders and a few days later he could be your sworn enemy.’

As for politics; Drustan’s youth and premature cynicism gave him no chance of learning skills to handle intrigue and scheming. Too young yet to garner insight, he had already set forth upon a lifestyle of distrusting isolation. He trusted no man and only three women, his sisters and Arina. The main reason he slept alone now was to ensure that there were few occasions when he and his sisters were together and capable of being captured as one. Somehow he felt safer if he was separated and distant from his sisters except in open spaces where enemies could not approach unseen. The Mermaid gave him this space and no amount of wheedling by his sisters could entice him to sleep in the town.

“I’ll guard my beloved ship,” he declared whenever they tried to encourage him to accompany them into town. If he did leave the mermaid it was only when Arina agreed to stand watch. Only she seemed to realise how much interest there was in Mermaid’s unusual hull. Mabina and Aiofe seemed to have become more enamoured of the town’s delights and pleasures.

Four days later the Turdetani King arrived with his queen and entourage to inspect the consequences of the battle. The town in the shadow of the Gibral Rock was an important port and gateway to the Turdetani lands and if the Corsairs had taken it the consequences would have been grave. King Appotel and his queen Bramana were powerful monarchs amongst the Celtiberian tribes and the ownership of the Gibral rock was a major status symbol. The Corsairs attempt to take it now that the Romans had departed had finally reinforced the chief’s message to his king.

‘Hold the Gibral Rock at all costs!’ The rock, the bay and the town were vital communication strongholds. King Appotel had finally realised their importance and he had come to determine what additional defences and precautions had to be made.

He also wished to meet ‘The Celtic Boy’ for King Appotel had only recently received a northern report of the spectacular defeat of the Viking Jarl, Blueface in the Britannic Islands a year earlier. That defeat in the lands of the Dumnonii had put a stop to the brutal Blueface’s seemingly irresistible advance southwards.

It was reported that a Celtic boy no less, had somehow fought the dreaded Viking chief to a standstill and received serious cuts to his arse and crotch in defeating the Jarl. The story had grown with the travelling and telling but King Appotel had sense enough to realise that a Celtic boy recently arrived with scars to his arse and a ship as fast as the one reputedly used to outflank the Jarl’s forces needed closer inspection. After completing the formalities of inspection and arranging their quarters at Arton’s Palace King Appotel was itching to check if the boy and his boat were one and the same as the boy who had killed Blueface. Only Appotel had the facts as reported in the reports he had received from cousins in the Basque regions and they had a letter in Latin from Penderol the Dumnonii chief vouchsafed by a second letter from King Dryslwyn himself. The old Roman communications were but a shadow of their former glories but they still served to carry information if slower and less certain. Only Appotel had the facts and he could check out the boy’s story.

Appotel could hardly contain his excitement when his sub-chief Arton finally pointed to the boy and the boat.

“I thought you said he was alongside.”

“He was, - this morning. He must have cast off.”

“Why? Did he have your permission?”

“He has free pratique my lord. We traded that for the secrets of those strange sails. Even now our boat-builders are about to test a similar suit of sails on one of our own craft. The trials were prepared for your visit.”

As Arton spoke the trial ship appeared from the dock with the new sails and presented itself for Appotel’s inspection. Several of the town’s senior trading captains in addition to Eric and Torvel had formed a crew to put the new sails through their paces. As the ship put alongside the quay Appotel and Arton boarded. Arton cast a knowledgeable eye over the rig but King Appotel was a soldier and knew little of ships and sails. He would depend on Arton’s knowledge.

A second ship with the older upper boom design joined the new ship and both ships were put through their paces while Drustan and The Angry Mermaid stood off untrustingly from a distance. King Appotel looked towards the boy and his small craft.

“Why does he not pay his respects to me? I am king!”

“He neither trusts nor respects any-one sir,” Eric explained, “not even Torvel or me and we rescued him from his injuries.”

King Appotel turned to Torvel who nodded agreement before he concurred.

“He trusts no-one sir, absolutely no-one! He’s a strange one is that boy.”

The king pulled a wry smile and nodded for the tests to get underway.

The new suite of sails quickly proved their worth particularly when beating up to windward and the tests were quickly completed. Every seaman who had partaken agreed that the new design was better. For the first time since sailors had ventured from the middle sea between the Pillars of Hercules the Turdetani now had a ship that could beat upwind into the vast western sea. This alone would enable them to outrun as well as defeat the Corsairs. No longer would the Turdetani have to wait for an easterly wind to take them westwards. King Appotel was a distinctly happy man. It now remained to meet the boy. To do this he had to co-opt the help of Isobel, Arton’s adopted daughter and the only town’s-person to whom the boy appeared to show the slightest trust. As the test ships were secured for the night, the king and his party retreated into the town whilst Isobel was made to stand alone on the quay and wave the boy back to the quay. Eventually Drustan sped like a racehorse towards the harbour and from the ramparts of the town’s defences even King Appotel could note the Mermaid’s unbelievable turn of speed.

“No wonder he outflanked Blueface,” Appotel murmured to himself as he watched Isobel shouting to the distrustful boy.

“Drustan, the king commands your attendance. It is rude to refuse. Please come alongside.”

“I have no king. Only the great western sea is my master.” Drustan called back.

Isobel flung her arms up in frustration.

“Oh don't be so melodramayic. Why do you not trust us? Your sisters do.”

“Does your word stand with the king?”

Isobel faltered. While her word was good for her adoptive father Arton, it might not have credence with the king. She nodded her head and agreed to speak with King Appotel. Drustan turned smartly about and single-handedly drove the Mermaid back across the bay just to reinforce how valuable the little ship was. He had done several crossings of the bay before a weary Isobel reappeared on the quay accompanied only by King Appotel. This is itself was a rare honour for kings rarely parleyed without courtiers and men at arms present. Drustan sailed close to the quay and set the mermaid in irons within speaking distance.

King Appotel was pleased that he did not have to shout.

“I am King Appotel of the Turdetani, Are you the same Drustan of the Gangani who defeated Blueface the Viking Jarl?”

“Who told you that?” Drustan replied. “I have never spoken of it here and my sisters are sworn to silence.”

King Appotel was already getting to like the boy. A straight talking lad who had obviously not swanked about his achievements. He explained.

“I am a king Drustan. It is a king’s business to know as much as he can to serve and protect his kinsmen. I have the reports here; a year after the event I’ll grant you but accurate. Tell me now your version, here were nobody is within earshot. I will know if you are the same boy.”

“What of the woman beside you, - Isobel. Send her away.”

“By the one God!” Isobel muttered, “why does he have to be so untrusting. His sisters are much easier to deal with.”

Appotel turned and smiled at Isobel.

“Indulge me good lady. Please. Step out of earshot.”

Isobel walked away wagging her head and wondering why the boy seemed to be getting more and more paranoid.

In modern times today Drustan’s paranoia might be attributed to post traumatic stress disorder for the Dumnonii Battle against Blueface had been a truly bloody affair and Drustan, still just a boy, had been in the thick of it!

Once assured that Isobel could not hear his words, Drustan tightened the sheet and brought the Mermaid alongside as neatly and gently as King Appotel had ever seen. He threw a rope to the king and motioned to him to secure it to the thick wooden mooring post. Appotel had never been so instructed to conduct such a menial task since being crowned and anointed. Isobel watched and smiled.

‘If ever a king was cut to size, that simple, single act had done it. In one simple gesture, Drustan had established his equality with the king and without even realising it.’

Once the Mermaid was secure Drustan invited the king aboard to talk. Appotel was intrigued and stepped gingerly into the craft for he was still wearing his ceremonial suite of arms. Without further ceremony, Drustan spoke bluntly.

“Why would you want to know of my battle with Blueface?”

“If you are that same boy, you are worthy of elevation to ennoblement.”

“King Dryslwyn offered me that. I refused it then and I refuse it now.”

“Well that sits with the reports. You would appear then to be the same boy. Tell me exactly what happened and show me your scar.”

Drustan rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Which scar, I’ve got two now.”

“The one were Blueface cut you.”
“Why should I? I’m sick of showing everybody my arse! I don’t have to prove anything to anybody. It was a dirty fight; I was stupid, crazy, angry and lucky; I dived under his shield then crawled under his chain-mail tabard and skirt then stabbed him in the genitals before he could reverse his sword and bring it inside his own shield wall. It was his last stand; he was prepared to die with his men anyway. I just got in first because I was small and swift.

Appotel nodded silently. ‘The boy’s words basically matched the report penned by Penderol the Dumnonii chief.’ King Dryslwyn had also written of the boy’s reluctance to flaunt his scarred arse and the embarrassment it caused, especially when women were absent. Truly this had to be the same boy!’

“Very well boy, I believe you, and yes you have my free pratique to enter any port in my domain without charge, let or hindrance. I will get my scribes to prepare your letter of marque.”

Appotel saw the boy visibly relax at this promise and finally the king realised just how stressed the boy was. He reached out to extend a hand of friendship and the boy cautiously extended his own but not before drawing back his tunic to reveal his other hand resting on a vicious looking dagger. The king frowned.

“That’s not a very friendly gesture is it son?”

“Who am I to trust? You could kill me easily with that sword you have on your belt.”

Appotel frowned and promptly unbuckled his belt to cast the sword onto the quay.

“There, now, please; your hand; in trust and friendship.”

Drustan extended a trembling hand and Appotel took it in his huge paw. The boy’s grip was weak and Appotel realised from the gaunt sunken eyes that he had not been eating properly. Lack of trust had even extended to checking the food freely sent each day by Arton’s wife Carinia.

“For God’s sake boy, relax! I mean you no harm and as King, I promise you and your craft a safe haven. Come with me now and dine with me. There is even a seat reserved for you on the high table.”

“Who will guard my ship?”

“Dammit boy! Would you have me bring the feast to the quay and set up bloody table right here?”

For a fleeting instant the young inexperienced Drustan actually considered the idea then rejected it as he realised the King’s sarcasm. It was this realisation that brought home to Drustan just how far he had gone down the road of disfunctionality. He shook his head then turned to stare into the king’s eyes as he finally conceded the issue.

“Very well, I will dine with you this day but nobody measures my ship and nobody checks its construction.”

King Appotel wagged his head in despair and relief.

‘God the boy was difficult!’

They carried on talking mostly about the children’s voyages and loss of their family to the Norsemen’s attack. Finally, when the king had the full picture he invited Drustan ashore.

As the king stepped ashore again Drustan made to follow, hesitated, bent one more time to check the moorings, then reluctantly followed the king to the feast. For the first time, The Angry Mermaid was unwatched by one of her crew.

He stood briefly on the quay debating one last time to leave her unattended and the king took the opportunity to recover his sword and belt. As Appotel buckled it he spoke of Blueface’s sword left behind for safekeeping in Britannia.

“Was Blueface's sword as good as this sword Drustan?”

“Let me see.”

The king unsheathed his finely worked sword and Drustan held it for balance before offering an opinion.

“Blueface’s sword was heavier and more destructive in his hands but this sword seems better balanced. It’s lighter and easier to swing, - and the blade seems altogether better. Sharper and less pitted. It’s got a better finish and the craftwork at the handle is finer.

Drustan swung the sword around his head and made several passes and strikes then smiled.

‘I’m definitely growing stronger. I could hardly lift Blueface’s sword but this I could use.’ He thought as he remarked to Appotel

“This sword is definitely better but Blueface’s sword probably tells a bloodier story. He plagued our lands for longer than I have lived. Has this sword ever fought?”

The Turdetani king smiled.

“No Drustan it has not. It’s my ceremonial dress sword. However it’s a proper sword made in a place called Toledo. They are noted for the steel in their swords.” I also have a fighting sword very similar to this one but my staff look to caring for my equipment. That sword has fought.”

The king spotted the slightest nuance of envy in the boy’s eyes as he reluctantly handed the beautifully worked sword back to its owner.

“I cannot give you this sword my boy for it is a ceremonial badge of office and authority. I could have a sword like this made for you if you would like. Would you consider that a fair trade for the secrets of the Mermaid’s hull?”

“Yes, probably but I must speak with my sisters first.” The boy replied thoughtfully.

The king sighed with some relief. ‘It seemed the boy had a price but it was an honourable one.’ A Toledo blade was already measured as priceless by all who had ever owned one and used it in anger. ‘And this boy would certainly need one if he were to carry on as he was!

Two battles and two immense life threatening wounds already earned from battle. The boy led a dangerous life!’ The King surmised silently as they trudged up the hill.