Betrayed. Christopher Dinsdale
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Henry’s blue eyes sparkled in the morning light as he lifted a battle-tested helmet and placed it over this thick mat of yellow hair. “Fools only hope for the best without preparing for the worst. Aye, Antonio. Prepare the cannon.”
He stood in the bow of the landing craft as a half-dozen of his most trusted knights paddled for shore. The men were dressed in full battle gear, their metal breastplates, helmets and swords glistening in the bright spring sunshine. As they neared shore, the men raised their paddles, and the boat skidded up onto the pebbly shoreline.
Prince Henry stepped over the rail of the boat and onto the shore facing the leather-clad crowd. Almost a hundred people approached and surrounded their tiny craft.
A gasp rippled though the native population as they noticed Prince Henry’s eyes. They were as blue as a clear winter sky. What could that mean, they wondered? Such eyes had never been seen before. Surely he was not of this world.
The rest of the crew jumped off the boat and fell into a v-shaped position on either side of their leader, one hand resting on the handle of their swords. Prince Henry stepped forward and addressed the gathering in Gaelic. “My name is Prince Henry Sinclair. I come to you in peace.”
The crowd looked at each other, then back to the strange visitors. A voice from the back of the crowd spoke up. Prince Henry did not recognize the unusual tongue, but it had an effect on the crowd, for the wall of people parted and allowed a young man with long, black, braided hair to step forward, seemingly out of breath. Prince Henry assessed the wiry young man. His lean, muscular shoulders were well-defined, and he moved with a natural agility. Like most of the men of the gathering, he was wearing only a simple loincloth and leather shoes.
His dark, calm eyes examined Prince Henry as he caught his breath. The prince looked to his men, and not sensing any danger, simply shrugged and waited to see what would happen next. The young man reached toward Prince Henry’s head with his hands and touched the helmet. Then, with surprising quickness, he lifted the helmet right off the prince’s head! The move surprised the soldiers beside the prince, and they began to draw their swords.
Prince Henry raised his hand, ordering them to stand down. The crowd rippled in apprehension as the raised helmet released the prince’s golden locks. Even Na’gu’set stepped back in surprise.
“Glooscap was not to have hair as golden as maize,” he muttered.
It was Prince Henry’s turn to be surprised. He stared at the young stranger in awe. “Did you just speak in the Celtic tongue? How is that possible?”
Na’gu’set was still staring at his golden hair, the helmet now secure under his arm. “You do not know about the Village of The Teachers? How is that possible when you speak The Teachers’ tongue?”
Prince Henry tried to make sense of it all. “Why did you call me Glooscap?”
“The Ancient Teachers predicted your return. You are Glooscap, the Pale One. Your people taught us the ways of the Great Manitou. They said to always be prepared for this day. It is an honour for me to be the one to welcome you back to our land. My name is Na’gu’set. I am your humble servant.”
Na’gu’set lowered his head submissively. From around his neck, a stone pendant dangled and gleamed in the bright sunlight. Prince Henry’s blue eyes crinkled in joyous amazement as he reached forth and examined it. He then grabbed hold of Na’gu’set’s shoulders and straightened him back up.
“Na’gu’set, my name is not Glooscap. My name is Prince Henry of Orkney, and although I am a prince, I consider everyone of my faith a brother or sister. You are a servant to no one but God Almighty Himself. And by the love of St. Mary, boys . . . look at this!”
The men gathered round and were stunned by the intricate Celtic stone cross that Prince Henry displayed in his palm.
“So those old legends were true!” blurted one.
“How can this be? We are an ocean away from Eire!”
Prince Henry smiled. “I have been to see the Irish monks on Iona, and they have written records of those early voyages to the far western island they called the Land of Promise.”
“But those were just tales of legend, were they not?” questioned another sailor. “Are you saying that the ancient Irish crossed the Atlantic in skin-covered boats only the size of a horse’s cart?”
Prince Henry laughed. “Remember, those Irish monks survived to see Iceland and Greenland in skin-covered boats. Why couldn’t they come all the way west to these new lands as well? St. Brendan and his men of the cloth beat us here by over seven hundred years! Just look at this beautiful cross and Na’gu’set’s knowledge of our sister language. ’Tis the only possible explanation!”
“But what does it all mean?”
Prince Henry grasped Na’gu’set by the shoulders. “It means that our almost impossible quest may now have a much better chance at success, thanks to old St. Brendan and his miraculous voyage. Na’gu’set, are you the only one in the village who can speak in the tongue of the Teachers?”
He nodded. “I grew up in the Village of The Teachers, a three-day paddle from here. My distant ancestor, a woman named Kiera, came from the Land of the Teachers, and this cross has been passed on from one generation to the next. We were taught the lessons of the Great Manitou. Many men from the village are sent to all the different nations of the lands to teach our beliefs.”
Prince Henry thought for a minute. He looked around at the surrounding silent crowd. It took a moment for the stunning revelations to sink in, but a smile slowly crept across his face. “Na’gu’set, if it is acceptable to your people, my crew and I would like to stay here for a while.”
Na’gu’set nodded. “I will ask the elders.” He turned to the crowd and conversed with a small group of older men. “Our elders would like to know what brings you back to the land of the Mi’kmaq.”
“Na’gu’set,” grinned Prince Henry, “you will soon be in the presence of a treasure that the Ancient Teachers would have sacrificed their very lives to see, if only for just a moment.”
“Treasure?” he asked, puzzled. “I do not know this word.”
“The word treasure means items of great importance. Some are beautiful works of art made to glorify God, or the Great Manitou, as you call him. Others are important pieces that have been created by hand to partake in worshipping the greatest of all Teachers. And one piece, the most important one of all, was created by the Hand of God himself.”
Na’gu’set stared into the smiling blue eyes of the prince, trying to comprehend what he had just been told. “The treasure, The Great Manitou’s treasure . . . is it out there, on your whale?”
Confused, Prince Henry followed the young man’s eyes out into the bay. “Whale? Ah . . . no, ’tis not on the ships. It is back in the Land of the Teachers. You must understand, the reason we are here, and surely the reason God brought us to you, is to help us find a safe resting place for our treasure. There are many people in other lands who desire our treasure, and because of their greed, the holy relics will soon be in grave danger. We need to find a place where the treasure can rest until the divided, sinful world we left behind is once again worthy enough to possess such holy objects.”
Na’gu’set looked out to the ships. “I will do whatever I can to help you. I am honoured to be in your service, Teacher.”
“No, not Teacher. Brother.” Prince Henry grabbed him by the shoulders. “I am your brother, Na’gu’set.”
Na’gu’set smiled and locked his gaze upon the blue-eyed stranger. “I am honoured to be of service, my brother.”
Three
Roslin Castle, July, 1399
Connor spun and ducked as the weapon sizzled through the air, brushing his long wavy hair as it arched past his skull. He stepped