t
side there hung a long claymore, longer by three inches than Kenric's
great sword. In his right hand he held a ponderous battle-axe of solid
brass, and from his pommel there hung a spiked mace whose head was as
large as the head of a man. His belt was studded with precious stones.
Not in all his army had King Alexander a stronger or nobler warrior than
Sir Piers de Currie; nor had he one, either strong or weak, who had a
deeper hatred against the Norse invaders, for they had burnt down his
castle of Ranza, and by them had his own uncle's castle of Brodick been
razed to the ground and his uncle slain. He was to fight that day for
his beautiful wife and his children, for the possession of his estates,
for his revenge against his enemies, and for his King and country; and
none who saw him could have doubted that he would prove a most valiant
and powerful antagonist.

Kenric had on his crested helm of brass, and wore a shirt of steel mail.
His knees and arms were bare, showing his firm muscles and the suntanned
skin; on his feet he wore buskins of double hide, and his legs were
protected by brass greaves. Over his back his longbow was slung beside
his full arrow sheaf. At his right side was his dirk, at his left the
sword of Somerled. On his arm he carried a small round shield studded
with nails, though this was more an encumbrance than a defence, since
his sword required the use of his two hands, and the shield might only
be employed as a protection against arrows fired from a distance.

Sir Allan Redmain was attired in like manner. As to their islanders,
some few of them of the better condition -- as Duncan Graham and Ronald
Gray -- wore shirts of mail, but the larger number, so far from desiring
armour when they came to close quarters with the enemy, even threw their
plaids aside and fought in their shirts, bare legged, bare armed, bare
headed. Many of them carried bows and arrows; all had either claymores
or pole-axes, with daggers and targets.

They had marched some ten miles southward through the sheltered glens of
Noddsdale when, mounting to the ridge of the range of hills that rise
above the shores of Cunningham, they were met by a keen icy wind from
the southwest. Below them stretched the wide Firth of Clyde, turbulent,
angry with foam-capped waves. Far across the water rose the giant
mountains of Arran, with their tattered peaks frowning in dark-blue
blackness against the leaden sky, and through a rent in the